#233 - Retrieve
Murky, steamy, oily green vapours roiled across the bathing pool as Burga the Mightily Bespooned stirred. Levering his yellow bloated body up on a dozen of his pustule-covered tentacles, he blinked moistening membranes across his sensory antennae and turned them towards the warp bladder vestibule that served as entrance to his lowsummer dungeon in time to watch the decapitated head of one of the household robots fall through it and squish to a halt on the faux-marsh carpeting. Which was odd.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello," said the young man entering at the front of the large number of people, some heavily beweaponed, some clearly weapons all by themselves. "My name is Mike, and these are my friends, all of whom are ready to kick your ass."
"Except me," said the pretty pointy blond one.
"Except Draco. He thinks kicking people is uncouth," Mike explained.
"I'll be hexing you instead."
"He's very good at it." Mike nodded. "Now, Mister the Mightily Bespooned, I've come for the Marchend Cauldron, and I'm not leaving until you tell me where it is and let me have it and take it away!"
"It's on the dresser," Burga said, sinking back into his pool and waving his grundarks in the dresser's general direction. "I keep my loose change in it."
"...oh." Mike looked at the dresser. He looked at Burga. He wandered over and prodded the dresser, which was made of mahogany and quite nice and also perfectly ordinary. He looked at Burga again. He prodded the Cauldron, which looked sort of but not entirely unlikely a teapot designed by H. R. Geiger. Nothing happened. He picked it up, then put it back down, pulled a cup out of his jacket pocket (very spacious pockets), poured the spare change from the Cauldron into the cup, left the cup on the dresser, and brought the Cauldron back to the head of the gang.
"Um," he said.
Burga bared his rear-teeth inquisitively.
"Thanks? That was pretty anticlimactic," Mike mused. Everyone else, except Burga, glared at him. "What?"
"You couldn't just let it go, could you?" Charity said. "You couldn't just take the Cauldron and leave. Noooo! You had to tempt fate."
"There was no tempting," Mike said. "I was just saying. That's not tempting. It's saying. Isn't it saying?" He looked at Draco for support.
"Yes, love," Draco said, patting his hand in a patronising sort of way.
"...aw, crap." Mike stuffed the cauldron into his jacket (very spacious pockets). "Okay! Here's what we do--"
There was an ominous crack of thunder.
"It's the doorbell," said Burga. "Main screen on." Putrid goop dribbled down from the omniblister, forming a glistening viewer on the wall. An attractive blonde woman smiled benevolently down at them, rippling slightly.
"Mother?" said Draco.
"My arch-nemesis!" Mike cursed. Draco glared at him. "I mean, Narcissa! What a pleasant and completely implausible surprise!"
"Draco, darling, is that you? What a coincidence!" Narcissa smiled. "I was just in the neighbourhood, doing a little shopping--"
"Mother," Draco sighed. "We're three thousand parallel realities down-spiral from the nearest quality wizarding outlet. Have you seen the local fashions? They're still wearing three-quarter heels."
Narcissa flinched, but rallied admirably. "Well, dear, while I'm here, I thought we might discuss a family heir. You're not getting any younger, you know, at least until I manage to convince the Wizengamot to overturn the ban on temporal-reverse charms. There's no time like--"
"Turn the screen off!" Mike hissed. "Quick! We need to find another way out before she realises we're trying to ditch her." Everyone stared at him. "...the screen's still on, huh?"
"Yes," said Narcissa, eyeing him as one would a particularly annoying bug. "Remind me why I haven't had you killed yet?"
"Draco loves me!" Mike said, pulling Draco between himself and the screen. Draco idly transfigured it into a pot of begonias and Mike beamed and kissed his cheek. "Quick! To the back door!"
The beweaponed gang ran past a bemused Mightily Bespooned and pulled open the back door.
"Hello," said the horned humanoid dinosaur in the dog collars. "My name is Reverend Bones, from Triceratops Against Xenophobia? I wonder if I might read to you from some pamphlets? It will only take a few hours of your--"
Mike slammed the door in the man's face. "Okay," he said. "The front door." Everyone looked at him. "Oh, right. To the side door!" Everyone looked at the wall. "Crap."
"There's a port pad at the end of the patio," said Burga helpfully. "The house robot will show you the way."
"Er," said Mike sheepishly. "We sort of blew them all up."
"Except for the ones I turned into ornamental shrubs," Draco added. "Your lawn needed some colour. You can have too much puce, I assure you."
There was a sort of scuttling, clanking noise. Everyone looked down to find that the decapitated house robot head had grown legs.
"Yeah," said Charity. "That's just creepy."
"Follow the scuttling head," Mike cried, pointing after it. "Oh, and, uh, thanks for the Cauldron, your Bespoonedness." He frowned. "Why do they call you that, anyway?"
"In my youth there was a craze for genital piercing," Burga began.
"Wowfascinatingokayyesmustbegoingnowdreadfullysorrygoodbye," Mike said, and ran for it.
They charged outside after the head, only to find the port point was already occupied by the shimmering glow of an incoming traveller. A strangely familiar piece of music began playing as the shape took solid form.
Obie gasped. "It's my ex!"
"It's Oprah Winfrey!" Mike frowned, then looked at Obie. "Wait, you used to date Oprah?"
"It was summer, 1985," Obie said. "I was nineteen. She was thirty-one. Oh, those magical weeks in--"
"Yeah, I don't really care," Mike said. "Oprah Winfrey! What do you want? And who keeps playing the theme to your show?"
"I've come for the Cauldron!" she proclaimed. "It's going to be my new Mystical Artifact Of The Week. Also, my studio band follow me everywhere to provide an inspiring soundtrack for women and men, girls and boys, and various other combinations of age and gender. Now, hand it over!"
"Ah, darling, there you are," said Narcissa, strolling elegantly around the corner. "I happen to have conception potions right here."
"Excuse me," said the Reverand, coming around the other corner. "I couldn't help hearing voices. Might I interest you in some pamphlets?"
Suddenly, spotlights blazed down at them from massive decloaking black ornithopters. A heavily amplified and distorted voice boomed out.
"This is M.Y.S.T.I.C! You're all under arrest for handling stolen merchandise at the behest of noted mystical fence Burga the Mightily Bespooned!"
"It, you, what?! Oooh, that cunning bastard," Mike fumed. "You can't trust anybody these days!" He frowned. "Wait, if we're stealing from a thief, that cancels out, right?"
"No," said the men from M.Y.S.T.I.C. "Ready the decoherence cannons!"
Everyone looked at Mike.
"Okay," he said. "Nobody panic. I have a cunning plan!"
Fortunately, Draco, Charity and Obie all had much better ones.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello," said the young man entering at the front of the large number of people, some heavily beweaponed, some clearly weapons all by themselves. "My name is Mike, and these are my friends, all of whom are ready to kick your ass."
"Except me," said the pretty pointy blond one.
"Except Draco. He thinks kicking people is uncouth," Mike explained.
"I'll be hexing you instead."
"He's very good at it." Mike nodded. "Now, Mister the Mightily Bespooned, I've come for the Marchend Cauldron, and I'm not leaving until you tell me where it is and let me have it and take it away!"
"It's on the dresser," Burga said, sinking back into his pool and waving his grundarks in the dresser's general direction. "I keep my loose change in it."
"...oh." Mike looked at the dresser. He looked at Burga. He wandered over and prodded the dresser, which was made of mahogany and quite nice and also perfectly ordinary. He looked at Burga again. He prodded the Cauldron, which looked sort of but not entirely unlikely a teapot designed by H. R. Geiger. Nothing happened. He picked it up, then put it back down, pulled a cup out of his jacket pocket (very spacious pockets), poured the spare change from the Cauldron into the cup, left the cup on the dresser, and brought the Cauldron back to the head of the gang.
"Um," he said.
Burga bared his rear-teeth inquisitively.
"Thanks? That was pretty anticlimactic," Mike mused. Everyone else, except Burga, glared at him. "What?"
"You couldn't just let it go, could you?" Charity said. "You couldn't just take the Cauldron and leave. Noooo! You had to tempt fate."
"There was no tempting," Mike said. "I was just saying. That's not tempting. It's saying. Isn't it saying?" He looked at Draco for support.
"Yes, love," Draco said, patting his hand in a patronising sort of way.
"...aw, crap." Mike stuffed the cauldron into his jacket (very spacious pockets). "Okay! Here's what we do--"
There was an ominous crack of thunder.
"It's the doorbell," said Burga. "Main screen on." Putrid goop dribbled down from the omniblister, forming a glistening viewer on the wall. An attractive blonde woman smiled benevolently down at them, rippling slightly.
"Mother?" said Draco.
"My arch-nemesis!" Mike cursed. Draco glared at him. "I mean, Narcissa! What a pleasant and completely implausible surprise!"
"Draco, darling, is that you? What a coincidence!" Narcissa smiled. "I was just in the neighbourhood, doing a little shopping--"
"Mother," Draco sighed. "We're three thousand parallel realities down-spiral from the nearest quality wizarding outlet. Have you seen the local fashions? They're still wearing three-quarter heels."
Narcissa flinched, but rallied admirably. "Well, dear, while I'm here, I thought we might discuss a family heir. You're not getting any younger, you know, at least until I manage to convince the Wizengamot to overturn the ban on temporal-reverse charms. There's no time like--"
"Turn the screen off!" Mike hissed. "Quick! We need to find another way out before she realises we're trying to ditch her." Everyone stared at him. "...the screen's still on, huh?"
"Yes," said Narcissa, eyeing him as one would a particularly annoying bug. "Remind me why I haven't had you killed yet?"
"Draco loves me!" Mike said, pulling Draco between himself and the screen. Draco idly transfigured it into a pot of begonias and Mike beamed and kissed his cheek. "Quick! To the back door!"
The beweaponed gang ran past a bemused Mightily Bespooned and pulled open the back door.
"Hello," said the horned humanoid dinosaur in the dog collars. "My name is Reverend Bones, from Triceratops Against Xenophobia? I wonder if I might read to you from some pamphlets? It will only take a few hours of your--"
Mike slammed the door in the man's face. "Okay," he said. "The front door." Everyone looked at him. "Oh, right. To the side door!" Everyone looked at the wall. "Crap."
"There's a port pad at the end of the patio," said Burga helpfully. "The house robot will show you the way."
"Er," said Mike sheepishly. "We sort of blew them all up."
"Except for the ones I turned into ornamental shrubs," Draco added. "Your lawn needed some colour. You can have too much puce, I assure you."
There was a sort of scuttling, clanking noise. Everyone looked down to find that the decapitated house robot head had grown legs.
"Yeah," said Charity. "That's just creepy."
"Follow the scuttling head," Mike cried, pointing after it. "Oh, and, uh, thanks for the Cauldron, your Bespoonedness." He frowned. "Why do they call you that, anyway?"
"In my youth there was a craze for genital piercing," Burga began.
"Wowfascinatingokayyesmustbegoingnowdreadfullysorrygoodbye," Mike said, and ran for it.
They charged outside after the head, only to find the port point was already occupied by the shimmering glow of an incoming traveller. A strangely familiar piece of music began playing as the shape took solid form.
Obie gasped. "It's my ex!"
"It's Oprah Winfrey!" Mike frowned, then looked at Obie. "Wait, you used to date Oprah?"
"It was summer, 1985," Obie said. "I was nineteen. She was thirty-one. Oh, those magical weeks in--"
"Yeah, I don't really care," Mike said. "Oprah Winfrey! What do you want? And who keeps playing the theme to your show?"
"I've come for the Cauldron!" she proclaimed. "It's going to be my new Mystical Artifact Of The Week. Also, my studio band follow me everywhere to provide an inspiring soundtrack for women and men, girls and boys, and various other combinations of age and gender. Now, hand it over!"
"Ah, darling, there you are," said Narcissa, strolling elegantly around the corner. "I happen to have conception potions right here."
"Excuse me," said the Reverand, coming around the other corner. "I couldn't help hearing voices. Might I interest you in some pamphlets?"
Suddenly, spotlights blazed down at them from massive decloaking black ornithopters. A heavily amplified and distorted voice boomed out.
"This is M.Y.S.T.I.C! You're all under arrest for handling stolen merchandise at the behest of noted mystical fence Burga the Mightily Bespooned!"
"It, you, what?! Oooh, that cunning bastard," Mike fumed. "You can't trust anybody these days!" He frowned. "Wait, if we're stealing from a thief, that cancels out, right?"
"No," said the men from M.Y.S.T.I.C. "Ready the decoherence cannons!"
Everyone looked at Mike.
"Okay," he said. "Nobody panic. I have a cunning plan!"
Fortunately, Draco, Charity and Obie all had much better ones.